Mire Gone To Mass

Somewhere silent now in a shushed swamp 

where the lily pads run parallel to the pier 

and it feels almost like the woods is watching 

everything quietly breathing, looking leer 

and the mangroves look a little like belfries 

and the birds are up there, ringing the bells 

in their throats, calling all the frogs to church 

to sing choir for the lord 

And they don't convene at morning, not that early 

they hold their mass at evening, when the shadows get long and curly 

that's why the swamp's so noisy, right around that time, see, 

since the mire's full of lively.